


and they say

by thunderylee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Universe, Gen, POV Second Person, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-11
Updated: 2005-10-11
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Percy comes home to find the Dark Mark over the burrow and spends a horrible several minutes trying to decide what he hopes that means.





	and they say

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for wizard_trauma 2005.

And they say you can’t go home again, not after everything that’s happened, not after you betrayed your family.

They call you a traitor. You feel their eyes burning holes in the back of your neck, and you hear the whispered rage they exchange. About you. It’s always been about you.

Growing up, you never fit in. You kept to yourself, losing yourself in your studies and planning for the future. They teased you, ridiculed you, left you out of the fun and games because that’s what you wanted.

This is not the future you envisioned, the life you dreamed about. You may not have been happy about being born in the middle of a big family, but those are the cards you were dealt and for the most part you accept it. Secretly, you were grateful for the unconditional love that constantly surrounded you despite the teasing.

Now they hate you. Even your mum, who was the only one who still loved you after the rest turned their backs on you. They hate you because they think you sold them out, that you willingly handed over information that led to the downfall of society.

You were captured six days ago at work. They broke your wards and ransacked your office. You were Apparated to a prison-like building where they tossed you into a cell and fed you stale bread. You never saw the faces of the men that walked by, but you heard the screams of the women they tortured.

They tried to torture you too, to get you to tell them the confidential information that you had been entrusted with. You refused to give in and wondered why they didn’t kill you. You still wonder as it seemed entirely too easy to escape.

Bruised, bloody, and broken, the first place you thought to check was your flat. A glance around told you everything was fine, although you knew better. The place may have been clean, but it also looked like no one lived there. You searched for any sign of your _very_ pregnant wife, worried about her state of mind and both her and your future son’s health.

You didn’t have to search long. She was in the bathtub, eyes closed, belly protruding. Her body floated in the red water and you fell to your knees. You grasped onto the edge of the tub for support and that’s when you found the note. Squinting through the abundance of tears in your eyes, you read:

_I can’t live with you and I can’t live without you._

You cry, because that’s all you can do. You can’t bring her back and you can’t save the baby. You can’t save any of them, not anymore.

How you ended up at your parents’ house, you have no idea. They don’t want to see you, they don’t _care_ that you’re alive. Yet you Apparated to the edge of the property and climbed the hill overlooking the house, where you now stand frozen in awe because of what you see in the sky.

The Dark Mark.

War has been fought here, that much is obvious. Your mum’s garden has been torn up and the house is in shambles. The aftermath of magical battle drifts through the air, a smell so fierce and rotten it makes you want to vomit.

You sit down on the hill, or more like your knees give out and your bottom hits the ground. You stare in silence, contemplating, pondering, trying to make sense out of the unbelievable sight before you.

You hope for their sake that they are dead. Not because you hate them as much as they hate you, but the exact opposite. _Because_ you love them, you wish them death. Eternal peace, resolution, an immortal escape from the ruins that this world has become.

There’s no reason to live anymore, not now that the Dark Lord is reigning. Blood traitors like your family, while not being treated nearly as badly as the Muggleborns, are still used only as reproductive bodies and for whatever magical talents they may possess.

You were a source of information. You did not provide this information, therefore you should be dead. You’re not, but you may as well be. There’s nothing to live for.

On your last day in captivity, the men were cheering and the women’s screams were louder. You didn’t ask, but you knew they were celebrating because the one person who was thought capable of defeating the Dark Lord had been extinguished. The same person who had been an honorary member of your family, someone whom you had known since he was eleven.

And they blamed you for his death. They blamed you for the downfall of society. They blame you, because you turned your back on them years ago.

That’s the truth, isn’t it? You turned your back on them, not the other way around. Staring at the smoky skull looming over your childhood home, you ponder what might have been different had you not walked out of that very door and left your family behind.

You would have assisted in the Order’s plans, of course, being a Ministry official in a high-ranking position. The information you had would have been used for the good instead of stolen by the bad. Your entire family would have come to your wedding; they’d actually _know_ you were married.

There’s no point in trying to change the past, not now when the future looks so dim. With what little energy you have, you hoist yourself up and begin the journey to the house. It’s not that far from the hill, and every step you take is amplified by a pounding in your head, a nagging suspicion that you are going to find every single member of your family lying still and cold in that house just like your wife was in the bathtub.

It’s too late to say you’re sorry. It’s too late to change your ways. All you can do is open the door and face whatever’s on the other side.

Emptiness. Just like your flat, the house is very clean and uninhabited. Something doesn’t seem right, and then it clicks in your head that the Dark Mark wouldn’t be in the sky unless someone was killed here.

Not trusting your voice, you slowly walk towards the kitchen, which is also desolate save for a crisp piece of parchment on the table where you spent so many years eating breakfast and being a victim of your brothers’ jokes.

With a shaky hand, you reach out and pick up the note. After wiping away tears you hadn’t known were there, you read the two words scrawled in messy handwriting.

_Gotcha, traitor!_

You freeze at the sound of a familiar voice.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

And they say you can’t go home again, but in a way, you finally are.


End file.
